ELY. Indeed he gives me, and he gave me life, Preserving me from fierce pursuing foes. When I, to blame, had wrought him many woes. With me he likewise did preserve this seal, Which I surrender to your majesty.
KING. Keep it, good Ely, keep it still for me.
ROB. H. The next fair jewel that I will present Is richer than both these; yet in the foil, My gracious lord, it hath a foul default Which if you pardon, boldly I protest, It will in value far exceed the rest.
JOHN. That's me he means; i'faith, my turn is next. He calls me foil: i'faith, I fear a foil. Well, 'tis a mad lord, this same Huntington. [_Aside_.
ROB. H. Here is Prince John, your brother, whose revolt And folly in your absence, let me crave, With his submission may be buried; For he is now no more the man he was, But dutiful in all respects to you.
KING. Pray God it prove so. Well, good Huntington, For thy sake pardon'd is our brother John, And welcome to us in all hearty love.
ROB. H. This last I give, as tenants do their lands, With a surrender to receive again The same into their own possession; No Marian, but Fitzwater's chaste Matilda: The precious jewel, that poor Huntington Doth in this world hold as his best esteem. Although with one hand I surrender her, I hold the other, as one looking still Richard return her: so I hope he will.
KING. Else God forbid. Receive thy Marian back, And never may your love be separate, But flourish fairly to the utmost date.
ROB. H. Now please my king to enter Robin's bower, And take such homely welcome as he finds, It shall be reckon'd as my happiness.
KING. With all my heart. Then, as combined friends, Go we together: here all quarrel ends.
SIR JOHN. Then, Skelton, here I see you will conclude.
SKEL. And reason good: have we not held too long?
SIR JOHN. No, in good sadness, I dare gage my life, His highness will accept it very kindly: But, I assure you, he expects withal To see the other matters tragical, That follow in the process of the story. Wherein are many a sad accident, Able to make the stoutest mind relent: I need not name the points, you know them all! From Marian's eye shall not one tear be shed? Skelton, i' faith, 'tis not the fashion. The king must grieve, the queen must take it ill: Ely must mourn, aged Fitzwater weep, Prince John, the lords, his yeomen must lament, And wring their woful hands for Robin's woe. Then must the sick man, fainting by degrees, Speak hollow words, and yield his Marian, Chaste maid Matilda, to her father's hands; And give her, with King Richard's full consent, His lands, his goods, late seiz'd on by the Prior, Now by the Prior's treason made the king's. Skelton, there are a many other things, That ask long time to tell them lineally; But ten times longer will the action be.